


Baby Russo

by satanic_panic



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Alternate Universe - Student/Teacher, F/M, Hate to Love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-14
Updated: 2019-08-14
Packaged: 2020-08-23 08:43:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,290
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20240023
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/satanic_panic/pseuds/satanic_panic
Summary: Instead of going to University, you land yourself in a position of being taught and mentored by Quentin "The Asshole" Beck.





	Baby Russo

Quentin was far from happy when his boss told him that he would be taking you under his wing, and it certainly didn't help when his boss told him that you were Billy Russo's baby sister, although not by blood; you weren't happy about it, either, as you would have much preferred to go to University, like you had originally planned. To everyone who saw, you and Quentin absolutely hated each other, and as you sat in the lab with him, the bickering filled the room. 

"Hey, ass-face, I'm hungry," you said. 

"I'm not your babysitter." Quentin scoffed with a roll of his eyes. "Go get your own food." 

The comment made you scoff and roll your eyes as you replied, "you'd be a shitty babysitter, anyways." 

He shook his head, sighing. "Do you ever shut up?" 

You shrugged, heading over to the window and opening it before lighting up a cigarette. "Do you ever stop being an asshole?" 

"Does your brother ever stop killing people?" He growled, knowing that perhaps the comment was a step too far, but not really caring. 

You clenched your teeth, gritting as the grip on your cigarette tightened. "Don't you dare fucking talk about my brother." 

"No, I'm sure Billy's a great brother," Quentin snapped sarcastically. "Great guy, he is, too, really… tell me, Baby Russo, when did your brother teach you how to mop up blood stains?" 

You wanted to lash out and lose your temper, you really did. "Shut. The. Fuck. Up." 

"Did I hit a nerve?" He teased, licking his lips and chuckling lowly. 

You threw your half-smoked cigarette out of the window before racing toward the door, slamming it shut behind you; you were heading down the hall, towards the exit, when someone all too familiar gently grabbed your wrist. 

"Hey." Billy looked over your face, furrowing his brows at the anger in your eyes, he tilted his head. "What is it?" 

You escaped his grip, leading him outside before sitting on the curb next to him, you let out a sigh. "Mister Beck, he… he keeps making comments about you, Bill." 

Billy clenched his teeth, shoulders tensing. "Have you spoken to the boss about it?" 

You scoffed, looking at the asphalt with a shake of your head. "He's… I wouldn't wanna burden him with something so trivial… anyways, what the fuck are you doing here?" 

He unclenched his teeth and allowed his shoulders to relax as he shrugged. "I have a meeting with a couple guys here… mostly just, y'know, ANVIL stuff, but there's also a few investments and shit." 

You nodded, swallowing thickly. "All I heard was blah, blah, blah, business, blah, blah, blah, shit." 

Chuckling, Billy nudged your shoulder. "You're an idiot." 

"You love me, really," you tittered. 

"Do I, though?" Standing up, Billy offered you his hand and pulled you up from the curb before clearing his throat. "I should get going… if that Beck guy brings up my name again, come find me. I'll have… a few choice words." 

\--- 

You went back in the lab after your conversation with your brother, and knowing he was in the building made you a bit more relaxed as you took your seat; Quentin was sat across from you, working on something to do with the project he was leading. Minutes of silence felt like hours before he finally piped up and spoke. 

"I'm guessing I went too far." 

You scoffed and rolled your eyes at the comment. "You're  _ guessing _ ?" 

Quentin looked over at you, cobalt eyes showing no remorse as he sighed. "Would you stop with the bickering?" 

"Would  _ I  _ stop?" You let out a bitter laugh. "Christ, you really are something else, aren't you, Mister Beck?" 

His eyes grew cold as he glared at you, shoulders tense. "Fine… can  _ we  _ stop bickering? We have a job to do." 

" _ You  _ have a job to do," you corrected. "You're supposed to be teaching me about all this shit." 

He rolled his eyes. "I'm not… I'm not the mentoring type." 

"Oh, no, I can clearly see that," you snapped. 

"Hey!" Quentin hissed. "Quit it, alright? Like it or not, we're stuck with each other for a year - and believe me, Baby Russo, I'm about as happy about it as you are." 

\--- 

After that day, you and Quentin calmed down on the bickering, somehow finding a good medium in throwing sarcastic insults across the room every so often, instead; but then, one day, you didn't show up, and Quentin got so worried that he wound up outside the flat you shared with Billy after his shift, pounding on the door until your brother answered with a hiss. 

"Where's (y/n)?" Demanded Quentin with an icy glare. 

Billy furrowed his brows, tilting his head. "She's not very well… why, what do you want?" 

Swallowing part of his pride, Quentin couldn't deny it felt like glass down his throat, slicing open his flesh on the way down. "I wanna see her." 

Although reluctant, Billy stepped aside, and pointed Quentin to the direction of your room before heading to his own; as he cracked the door open, Quentin noted how dark it was as he cleared his throat. 

"(Y/N), it's Quen- Mister Beck." 

A painful sigh came from beneath a thick duvet. "What do you want?" 

"You didn't show up," he explained, "is something wrong?" 

With groans of agony, you slowly sat up, and even in the dark, Quentin could see the utter pain in your eyes. "My rib, my shoulder, my jaw - take your pick… but, listen, I'll be in tomorrow, I-" 

"No, you won't." Quentin growled, shaking his head. "You're… you're not in any condition. You could make some serious mistakes that could cost me my entire… my entire project." 

You let out a scoff, sliding back down beneath the waves of white thick duvet, a single sarcastic comment leaving your lips: "wow, thanks for caring so much." 

He clenched his jaw slightly; he didn't want to admit that he was worried and that he did care. He couldn't. In the weeks he had stopped bickering with you, Quentin had developed a slight, small, soft spot for you; but he was your mentor, your teacher, it was wrong on so many levels for him to care the way he did, as even though you were old enough to do what you wanted with your life, even though you were old enough to pursue a romance with him, he couldn't jeopardise his job, his life, for you. 

"Yeah well…" he cleared his throat, looking away. "If you need anything, Baby Russo, let me know." 

You muttered an agreement, allowing him to leave, but on the way out, Quentin gave his number to Billy. 

"The fuck do I need this for?" 

Quentin shrugged, pulling open the door to let himself out. "If (y/n) needs anything - painkillers, a good doctor, whatever." 

Billy furrowed his brows, tilting his head a little. "Why?" 

Quentin had to think on his feet to answer as he said, "I need her back in the lab with me as soon as possible, the sooner she's out of my hair, the sooner I get a raise." 

"Christ," Billy chuckled, shaking his head. "You really are a selfish bastard, aren't you?" 

\--- 

On the days you weren't in, Quentin found himself constantly checking his phone to see if Billy had contacted him, even if only to let him know how you were doing, but nothing ever came; you were getting in the way of Quentin's obsession with being the best, with having his project be the best, and although he never wanted to admit it, he had grown soft when it came to you. The silence of the lab was driving him up the wall, the lack of your presence, the absence of your bickering with him, it was all gone, and Quentin didn't know what to do with himself… until one Tuesday afternoon, when Billy swung by, wearing a fine tailored suit, looking every bit the business gentleman he played his hand at being. 

"Beck." Billy nodded curtly and sat where you usually did, crossing one leg over the other as he made himself comfortable. 

Looking up from his papers, Quentin furrowed his brows and tilted his head to the side. "Russo." 

Billy cleared his throat, bringing out his phone and quickly texting someone before stuffing it back into his pocket. "(Y/N)'s getting better. She's up and about, but I've just had a word with your boss, and he agrees that, for now, it would be best if you…" he gritted his teeth. "If you tutor her at home, for the time being." 

Quentin nodded, doing his best not to let his facade of selfishness and arrogance and ego drop. He cursed the soft spot you had made within him. "And what about my work here? My project?" 

Rolling his eyes, Billy stood up, heading toward the door. "Your boss is taking care of that… be at my place eight o'clock tomorrow morning." 

Quentin knew he would be there, but even still, he pretended to be a little displeased at it as Billy left him in the lab, grumbling and shaking his head until he heard the door slam; he let out a sigh, rubbing his temples and cursing himself. Why was he falling for you? Why did you have to go and make him soft? He was perfectly content being cold and like a rock until you came along, he was perfectly content being "Quentin the Asshole". 

\--- 

Tuesday, seven thirty in the morning, Quentin had half an hour to get to your place, plenty of time as he stood in line at the local coffee shop to grab himself a cup of coffee; the line was long, some idiot with a bun and a scruffy beard and glasses without lenses taking far too much time in describing that he needed his coffee with soya milk, holding up the line until he got what he wanted and left. Thankfully, Quentin was up next, and his order was so simple that the barista let out a sigh of relief: normal coffee, no milk, nothing fancy. 

By seven forty five, Quentin was walking up the stairs to your flat, but was stopped by Eddie Brock, who greeted him and did his best to keep his symbiote at bay; the black goo on the journalist's fingertips seemed to snap at Quentin as he spoke curtly and without much interest. 

Finally, at seven fifty three, Quentin knocked on the door, his eye twitching when you opened it with a wince. 

"Why aren't you in bed?" He asked, taking a sip from his cup as he stepped inside. 

You scoffed, rolling your eyes. "What are you, my babysitter?" 

He shot you an icy glare at the comment. "No. Never have been, never will be, honey." 

You shrugged, lugging yourself over to the kitchen area and flicking the kettle on before straining with agony to reach the mugs; Quentin came up behind you, then, placing his coffee on the counter before standing behind you and getting the mug for you, his chest pressed against your back and his fingers ghosting yours as he handed you the mug. When he moved away, you swallowed thickly, trying to ignore the pounding of your heart as you shakily put the mug on the counter in front of the kettle. "T- thanks." 

He nodded, taking a sip from his cup as he leaned up against the farthest counter. "What did you do? To your rib, shoulder, jaw, whatever." 

"Honestly? No fuckin' clue," you chuckled, putting three spoonfuls of sugar and one of coffee into your mug. "I just… I woke up a couple days ago, and it's just been utter pain from there. Billy reckons I've cracked my rib, pulled a muscle in my shoulder and my jaw… well, that's been hurting for a while." 

Quentin frowned a bit, but snagged the inside of his lip between his teeth to stop himself from making it too obvious as he sighed. "Are you okay?" 

You shot him a look before pouring the boiled water into your mug, and as you grabbed the milk from the fridge, you shook your head. "You don't have to pretend you care, you know." 

His jaw subtly clenched as he watched you finish making your coffee; he shook his head. "Who said anything about pretending?" 

You took a sip from your mug, wincing when you realised you picked it up with the wrong hand. "Just… drop the act, Billy isn't here, he's got some shit at ANVIL he needs to take care of, so it ain't like you need to act like you give a shit. You can be your usual, normal, asshole self around me… like you said, you're not my babysitter, so my health isn't your concern." 

"It fucking is," he growled, before realising he was letting his emotions get the better of him. "The sooner you're out of my hair, the sooner I get a raise for doing this bullshit, and you being all busted up and hurt is… it's not gonna get me anywhere." 

"There he is," you smiled, licking your lips. "Beck the Asshole." 

\--- 

The tutoring session seemed to be going great as you laid on the floor with Quentin, talking everything through, but then, you got up, stretching and almost collapsing had it not been for him quickly catching you and pulling you close with furrowed brows and a frown. You could feel his breath on your lips, as you looked up into his cobalt eyes, and for once, there wasn't a spot of ice to them. 

"(Y/N)? You okay?" He asked lowly, swallowing thickly and looking you up and down. 

Pushing yourself away, you nodded, clutching your rib. "Y- yeah, just… ah, sweet fuck… just dandy. Don't worry about me." 

Quentin shook his head, grabbing you by the waist and sitting you down on the sofa as he firmly ordered, "don't fucking move. You're staying put." 

"What are you, my babysitter?" You asked with a scoff and a raised brow, laughing through the pain. "C'mon, drop the shit, would you? I'm fine." 

"Clearly, you're fucking not." He growled, running a hand down his face. "Fuck, you didn't tell me it was this bad! You should… shit, you should be in bed!" 

You rolled your eyes as you attempted to stand, only to be gently pushed down by Quentin's firm hand, which made you sigh. "I'm fine, Mister Beck!" 

Quentin sighed heavily, moving away from you once he was sure that you wouldn't attempt to stand up again as he sat on the coffee table, keeping you pinned in place with his gaze. "You're not fine, Baby Russo. What painkillers are you on?" 

"I repeat my earlier question," you seethed. "What are you, my babysitter?" 

"For today, yeah," he snarled. "Now, tell me. What painkillers are you on?" 

You looked away, sucking in a breath in order to hold back a whine as you felt your rib and shoulder sting so harshly you were sure you couldn't move, your jaw throbbing. "Tramadol." 

"Oh, Jesus, fuck…" he swiped a hand down his face and sighed. He knew the doses of tramadol, he knew what could happen. "How many have you had today?" 

You groaned, shifting to allow your shoulder to lean against the sofa. "None… why the fuck would I take it, if I don't need it?" 

Quentin scoffed, raising a brow. "You seriously think you don't need it right now?" 

"As a matter of fact," you hissed through gritted teeth, trying to keep the pain at bay, although, your jaw was throbbing and stinging more due to the action. "No, I don't." 

He did everything not to clench his jaw and argue. "Fine. Suffer." 

"I will." You growled. 

"You're a piece of work, Baby Russo." He wryly chuckled. 

"And you're an asshole, Mister Beck," you allowed a whine to slip passed your lips, and for a split second, you could have sworn you saw Quentin's eyes flash with concern for you. "Can we get back to work, now?" 

\--- 

Quentin wouldn't allow you to get back to work, insisting on taking you to bed and wrapping you up in your duvet before lying beside you and putting the television on; for a small while, he sat and watched rock music videos with you until, eventually, during an advert break, you turned to him. 

"Be serious, Mister Beck, why are you acting like you care so much?" 

Turning his head to look at you, Quentin shrugged. "I have my reasons." 

"A man of mystery," you chuckled, shaking your head and wincing a little when you shifted, shooting pain through your rib and shoulder. "Come on, be real, tell me." 

He shook his head, a little smirk laying across his lips. "Now why would I do that?" 

You toyed with a loose strand on your duvet. "Because, even though you don't wanna admit it, you actually kinda like my company." 

His icy glare warmed, thawing his blue eyes slightly. "Maybe. Maybe not." 

Leaning forward slightly, you winced as you grabbed a pillow and hit him with it playfully as you smiled. "Asshole." 

Holding the pillow close to his chest, Quentin let out something between a growl and a hum. "Why are you so childish?" 

You didn't answer, preferring not to change the subject. "Why do you care about me so much?" 

"I'll answer your question if you answer mine," he bartered. "Quid pro quo." 

"Alright, Hannibal Lecter," you chuckled. "I'm not childish, I'm just like this… your turn, why do you care so much?" 

Sighing, Quentin knew he wasn't going to wriggle his way out of answering your question, so he answered, quietly. "Because, even though I hated you for the first stretch, I… I have a soft spot for you, and I… fuck, I'm not saying it." 

You furrowed your brows as you looked at him, tilting your head slightly to the left. "Saying what?" 

"You have to understand, Baby Russo," he explained, "that, if I told you, I could lose my fucking job. I could lose my life's work." 

"Yo, Mister Beck," you let out a nervous chuckle. "Any secret you got is safe with me." 

"You can't even tell your brother." He deadpanned, deadly serious. 

"Yeah, like I tell him anything," you scoffed, although you knew it was a blatant lie; you told Billy everything. 

"I've… I'm interested in you," Quentin told you, allowing his mystery to slip a little. "Romantically." 

For a moment or two, you stared at him blankly, unsure of how to reply; sure, at first, you hated him the way you hated people who abused animals, but you had to admit that, since calling a treaty of sorts, you had enjoyed his company, and on numerous occasions, had even entertained the idea of kissing his lips, feeling his neat facial hair between your legs while he pinned you down with an icy glare. You couldn't help but to think about how, earlier on, when he had gotten dominant with you, ordering you not to do this, that and the other, it was a bit of turn on. But, he was your teacher, of sorts, your mentor, he could lose his job, his life's work, and that was the last thing you wanted. 

"Quentin, I…" you shook your head, groaning as you moved a little bit away from him, stabbing pain in your veins. "We can't… I… as much as I'd love to, I can't let you take the risk of losing everything you've worked so hard for, I'm… I'm so sorry." 

Quentin clicked his tongue as he cleared his throat. "Don't be sorry, honey." 

**Author's Note:**

> Might possibly do a part 2, depending on how well this does...
> 
> Edit: I will not be doing a part 2 any time soon.


End file.
